That Certain Night
by Silvestria
Summary: After an evening at the theatre, Mary and Charles wander home through the warm London night. Inconsequential fluff and fantasy for those who wish Julian Ovenden had sung in the Christmas Special.


_A/N: Just a piece of inconsequential fantasy and fluff for those of you who wanted Julian Ovenden to sing on the show... And considering that I do hope that you will excuse the anachronism - the song in question was first performed in 1939, but it was so completely perfect for the setting I couldn't help but use it. Maybe pretend a TARDIS was involved somewhere?_

_To summarise in full the plot of Gilbert and Sullivan's charming operetta Iolanthe would probably end up longer than the story itself, but in case you're not familiar with it, it revolves around a beautiful ward of court, Phyllis, who is being courted by two identikit peers, Lords Tolloler and Mountararat. However, Phyllis wants to marry a shepherd boy, Strephon, who is secretly half a fairy! The climax of the first act involves Strephon's fairy relatives, led by the redoubtable Fairy Queen, launching an attack on the House of Lords and setting up Strephon as a Member of Parliament to bring reform to the stuffy peers. ("A fairy member - how delightful!") I almost wish this story was extended because Iolanthe is such a perfect show for Mary and Charles to watch!_

_Enjoy!_

* * *

"I'd like to walk," said Mary as they emerged into the balmy midsummer evening.

"Walk? All the way back to Grantham House?" Charles' hand hovered above her back, not quite touching.

She turned on the spot. "Well, if you're not up to it..."

He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to look up into the sky. "It is a lovely evening."

"It has been, yes," replied Mary, watching him.

This caught his attention and he lowered his head to eye her as he endeavoured to pick up her meaning. She only pressed her lips together and ducked her head, taking a few steps away from the theatre.

He followed her, of course, smiling. "And it's not over yet. We're at least twenty minutes away from your home."

"You're counting down the minutes?"

He caught her up and grinned. "Only in the hope of them doubling."

Mary allowed herself to smile back. She was acutely aware of him walking beside her; aware of the way he kept just too far away for his shoulder to nudge hers or his bare hand to brush hers through the thin lace of her gloves; aware of the significant way his footsteps had fallen into time with hers. She immediately held back a fraction until their steps differentiated again – back to an uneven _clop-clip, clop-clip _down the pavement.

"So did you enjoy it?"

"Very much," he replied. "It's an appealing show, though I admit to being rather terrified of the Fairy Queen in this production." He held back a moment before adding, his eyes dancing, "She reminded me a little of your grandmother."

"Oh!" She blinked at him before shaking her head. "I should scold you for that, you know."

"Go on! I can take it."

She pursed her lips, thinking he looked far too happy at the prospect. "Granny would never be associated with a bunch of anarchic fairies trying to infiltrate Parliament. And she would _never _replace a Duke's hereditary rights by a competitive examination. Can you imagine?"

"You're right," he replied, nodding. "I don't know how I came to make the comparison."

"So long as it stops there."

He raised his eyebrows and somehow she swayed in his direction and bumped her shoulder lightly against his.

"Afraid I might start suggesting others? You would make a darling Phyllis, Mary!"

"Would I? Then would you prefer to be Lord Tololler or Mountararat? I should warn you that I find them both perfectly indistinguishable."

"Hmm, not a great recommendation... Wouldn't I have a shot at Strephon or am I destined to be forever a foolish aristocrat, distinguished from my rival only by my voice part?"

Mary stopped walking and allowed herself the luxury of casting her eyes up and down him. "Well now, Charles, are you half a fairy?"

He laughed openly, the skin round his eyes creasing with amusement as he let himself to be objectified.

"Maybe I am!"

"In that case, _maybe _I'll allow you a shot at Strephon."

She began to walk again, crossing the road to the park in the centre of the square. It looked impossibly tempting, with the gates still open and the gas lamps lit, creating a path of light across the diagonal in the luminous dusk. Stepping inside was like entering a fairytale kingdom of friendly shadows. It made her heart beat faster and she wished to slow her steps so that they might be in tune with the hushed atmosphere. Charles was equally affected and his footsteps became quieter or perhaps they only seemed so.

"I'm glad you chose to walk back," he said softly when they were over half way across the square and had been in silence for several minutes. "And that you chose to spend your last night in London with me."

"You bought me a ticket to _Iolanthe_. How could I resist?"

They laughed together softly, glanced at each other and then glanced away.

"This is the nicest battle I've ever taken part in."

"I'm afraid you don't feel suitably antagonistic. Which means you will probably lose," she added with a little, satisfied wiggle.

"I'm afraid I've already lost."

His voice was so quiet and deep that she stopped short just inside the gate on the far edge of the park and drew in a sharp breath. She clutched her hands together in front of her and stared out at the houses on the other side of the room, of which Grantham House was one. For a moment all was still apart from the rustle in the trees around them from a sleepy bird or two and the breeze stirring the leaves. Mary concentrated on breathing, feeling him at her back as intensely as he were touching her in reality.

"_That certain night, the night we met, there was magic abroad in the air..."_

A shiver passed through her at the sound of his voice as he proved that he would, in fact, have been Lord Tololler the tenor if he had to play one of the rival peers. She did not move.

"_There were angels dancing at the Ritz and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square_."

Now she turned back to him and the crooked smile he was giving her tugged an involuntary smile to her own lips.

"Why are you singing?" she managed to ask in a relatively normal voice, pleased that she was not capitulating too easily.

"_I may be right, I may be wrong, but I'm perfectly willing to swear that when you turned and smiled at me, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square!_"

He raised one eyebrow at her and her cheeks flushed as she looked away.

"This isn't -" She swallowed. "This isn't even Berkeley Square!"

"Perhaps not, but it could be, don't you think?" he murmured gently. He took a step closer to her and took her unresisting hands as she had known he would.

"_The moon that lingered over London Town, poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown. How could he know we two were so in love, the whole darn world seemed upside down? The streets of town were paved with stars, it was such romantic affair! And as we kissed and said 'goodnight', a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square._"

The very air about them seemed to shimmer in expectation as he finished the verse, his voice sliding away almost into nothingness. Mary, who had started by hardly being able to look at him in embarrassment – what if someone _heard_? - found that she was unable to look away. Inevitably, he drew their clasped hands together, bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. It was only the lightest touch but she was aflame for him and sensation shot all over her body, warming her to her toes. They remained suspended, together with hearts pounding, but neither making any move to deepen the kiss.

He pulled back first but her eyes remained closed and she was reluctant to open them. Eventually she did so, moistening her lips and, with a self-conscious quirk of her eyebrows, sang very softly, "_I know 'cause I was there – that night in Berkeley Square._"

"You were indeed," he replied and there was a look in his eyes as he heard her sweet mezzo for the first time that made her wish to run, though it was hard to tell whether the instinct was to run towards or away from him.

Somewhere, carried on the stillness of the night, came an exclamation and a laugh from two other people, making their way home or to another party. Mary blinked. "I should-"

"You probably should." He released her hands reluctantly.

"Yes."

She wanted to reach for him again, to continue the kiss that had hardly deserved its name. She was upset, off-kilter, and she did not know how to regain her centre of gravity.

"It was a lovely evening."

"The first of many, I hope."

Somehow their feet were moving, they were crossing the road, and they were stopping at the bottom of the steps of Grantham House where he had parted from her after Rose's ball and war had been declared.

"I hope so too," she agreed with a genuine, tentative smile. At her side, her fingers flexed.

"Perhaps you will return to London soon?"

"Perhaps. Or maybe you will happen to be in Yorkshire."

"Both?"

"That is possible too."

He smiled at her and she smiled back.

"Goodnight then!" Someone had to make the first move to leave, after all.

"Goodnight, Mary."

Their eyes spoke more eloquently than their lips; a kiss, a caress, a parting. She turned and went up the steps, taking them one at a time, hearing the click of her shoes on the stone, wondering if he had turned away or was watching her...

"Charles?" She span round on the top step and called anxiously, his name bursting from her without having made any conscious decision to say it.

"Mary!" He had not moved from where she had left him, but now he raised his head at the sound of her voice and was up the steps in a bound.

Then his arms were round her and she was clutching him back for dear life and he was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her and she was kissing him back and it would never end, it could never end, for there was no way of telling where he ended and she began. It was darkness and warmth and strength and tenderness and eternity.

And, had they heard anything above the inflamed beat of their hearts and the soaring in their souls, in the trees overhanging the square a nightingale began to sing.


End file.
